Sanctuary

first.

"One more week," I say to myself as I slam my locker shut. One more week and I'm done with high school, graduated, and out for the summer. No, I don't have summer plans -- I never do. Just me, alone and free from all the stress that comes with senior year.

The long walk to the cafeteria is excruciating: it gets so hot here in Arizona and my school has no air conditioning. My all-black attire doesn't help much either, but there's no way I'd wear any other color. Except maybe grey. Like a dark grey.

At least the cafeteria is semi-cool, the windows lining the far wall have all been propped open. As I plop myself down in my usual spot, I breathe in the familiar cafeteria smell of cheese fries and sweat. Gross. The other kids that fill the table around me are my friends, although I wouldn't go so far as to call them good friends. I have few good friends, but the ones I do have are the most important to me. In this last week of high school, I'm not really here to make friends -- I'm here to survive.

Before I can take a bite of my sandwich, my phone buzzes in my pocket.

Some guy just called the house asking for you, do you know anyone named Ricky Olsen?

It's my mom. And yeah, I do know I guy named Ricky Olsen: he's the guitar player for my favorite band -- Motionless in White. As much as I wish I did, I don't know Ricky personally. A guitar player myself, I definitely admire his talents. I'd love to start a band some day like Motionless in White, but starting a band requires: A) friends and B) friends who can play instruments and have a similar music taste. Since I have none of those, I'll continue to play my guitar by myself.

This phone call must've been a prank, or maybe mom got the name wrong. I continue to eat my sandwich.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

On my walk back home, I imagine what it would be like to have the real Ricky Olsen call me. What would he say? What would I say???

I unlock the back door and throw my keys on the counter. I grab a can of Coke out of the fridge before heading over to the phone -- the red light blinks, one unheard message. I take a deep breath before I listen to the message, then shake my head. No way, there's no way this is real. I press play.

Hey there Sylvia, this is Ricky Olsen from Motionless in White...

Oh god.

...I was just calling to see if you were maybe interested in touring with us. Ryan is pretty sick, and we need a talented guitar player to fill in. We've seen your cover videos on YouTube and figured you knew our songs pretty well already, so give me a call? Thanks, bye.

The dial tone rang throughout my house. My jaw was perpetually open, my heart seemed to stop. I couldn't move. Of course I'd tour with them, but this couldn't be real. Some sick scam.

I picked up the phone and punched in the number he left. Might as well try, I thought.

"Hello?"

I heard a voice. A familiar voice. I couldn't speak.

"Hello?? Who's there?"

The voice sounded more urgent. I had to say something.

Shaking, I managed to croak out a "Hi," and then a "This is Sylvia, I'm... I'm returning your call."

Silence. Shit, what now?

After what seemed like an eternity: "Oh hey! Yeah! So whaddaya think?" He seemed excited, I felt numb.

"I... yes! For sure! I'll do it!"

"Great! So when do you wa--"

"Are you sure this is Ricky Olsen? Like Motionless in White Ricky Olsen?" I blurted out.

I heard a laugh from the other end, "of course, who else?"

I closed my eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. This was real.

Ricky continued to talk about tour dates and stuff, and I was floating on a cloud. All these years I'd feared I'd never make it, yet here I was.

My wildest dreams had come true.